


Got a fever in silence

by orphan_account



Category: JUDGE EYES: 死神の遺言 | Judgment, 龍が如く | Ryuu ga Gotoku | Yakuza (Video Games)
Genre: M/M, Overstimulation, Rip Kengo's shirt lads, Semi-Public Sex, and idk canon typical power dynamics, anyway, helping hand from some pressure points, super lite spoilers through chapter 3 of judgement, we got a little sprinkle of humiliation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-21
Updated: 2019-12-21
Packaged: 2021-02-26 22:23:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21889051
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: He could be talking to his phone, Kengo speculates -- voice toned low and private under the primary growl of the Hijet's engine -- if it weren't also accompanied by the squeeze of Hamura's hand almost vice-like into the knotted mess of his scalenes. Instead of rubbing, easing, encouraging Kengo to relax, Hamura keeps up the pressure of his fingers, the ache there morphing into a genuine pain with the passing seconds.--Push push push. It's all Hamura ever does. Immediately post Cafe Alps.
Relationships: Hamura Kyohei/Kengo
Comments: 3
Kudos: 14





	Got a fever in silence

**Author's Note:**

> This is bullshit thirst porn, I wrote it on my phone between jobs today. It's probably objectively not the greatest but you bitches filling up the tag with your cornucopia of Matsugane desperation kink aren't fucking helping anything either what the fuck.
> 
> Title from an Orville Peck song, I forget which one.

It's Kengo's hands that give him away -- after. They're shaking, and it's one of those things that the body does, that the mind ignores until some small, dumb thing pulls the whole well of your brain's focus to the involuntary display of being overhwlemed.

That's what it's about, Kengo figures. He clenches his hands shut tight, pushes them down into the fabric of the van seat under him, wanting for a wild moment to reach forward and grab at Kondo's lapels -- dumb fucking rayon three-piece in an unpleasant babyshit brown, trying for antiquated class and coming up short -- twist up the collar of his shirt till the older man has to let go of the wheel and send them all careening into the breezeblocks covering the east side of the Champion's District.

Ozaki, in the front passenger seat, stirs slightly, the signs of a beating less permanent on his mammoth frame than Kengo's, but there all the same; his composure, however, still holding up marble and heavy and as unshakable as when the night first started. His small bird eyes shift to meet Kengo's gaze in the rearview, and it's startling enough that Kengo has a panic over the sudden paranoia he's said something he doesn't remember or made some sort of noise.

It's not Ozaki who voices his concerns, though.

"Calm the fuck down," Hamura says, the agitation of the chase, of losing Yagami for the moment, bled dry of his voice.

He could be talking to his phone, Kengo speculates -- voice toned low and private under the primary growl of the Hijet's engine -- if it weren't also accompanied by the squeeze of Hamura's hand almost vice-like into the knotted mess of his scalenes. Instead of rubbing, easing, encouraging Kengo to relax, Hamura keeps up the pressure of his fingers, the ache there morphing into a genuine pain with the passing seconds. Kengo can stop himself from squirming, sort of, but it's the kind of throbbing that he knows will draw pinprick tears, and he's already off-kilter enough from earlier in the alley, where his desire to prove himself willing and useful put a gun in his hand and Hamura's breath in his ear.

Fuck making Kondo crash the van, Kengo might throw himself out the window at this rate. The pressure points Hamura's digging into offer the kind of pain that invariably makes Kengo feel exposed and undone, like a pinned butterfly in some kind of _rinshirui_ collection. The harsh injury of road rash, of peeled skin and sticky plasma and full-body burn, the fantasy Kengo's over-adrenalized animal brain is kicking out at him offers simple absolution, so appealing he almost pulls away from Hamura to press his face against the cold winter glass. But Kengo can't pull away from Hamura. Doesn't entirely want to, if he's being honest, even if he can't properly articulate why.

"Hamura-san," Kengo tries once he feels wetness welling up, the salt of his tears a mild sting against dry eyes. "Fuck, Hamura-san that really hurts."

Hamura scoffs and shakes him slightly, not adjusting his fingers or the pressure they're applying in any way. It reminds Kengo absurdly of mother cats carrying around their litter by the skins of their necks. "It's supposed to hurt, dumbass. Acupressurists call this spot Heaven's Pillar."

Hamura's still scrolling through his phone sending out alerts to rally the troops and scour the town for Yagami and his pet thief and not looking at Kengo despite his minstrations, which makes it better and worse when Kengo bites his tongue and has to blink rapidly or sob as the throbbing from where Hamura's fingers are dug in lances through his neck and shoulder down to tickle at his gut. Ozaki is still holding his gaze, still serene, and it's fucking absurd to the point that Kengo gives up a bit, screws his eyes shut although it sends tracks of tears down his face. He tilts his head unthinking back and towards Hamura, seeking something _anything_ close to relief.

"Oh no you don't," Hamura sounds almost conversational, and Kengo hears the soft thump of Hamura's phone getting tossed onto the floor between his feet.

Kengo's chest lurches slightly when it occurs to him through the haze of distracting touch that if Hamura's done being Matsugane's organizational hive mind, all that deceptively lazy focus has left to chew on is Kengo squirming under his hands in the backseat of a moving van, and -- it feels like fear but Kengo's dick twitches all the same. There is absolutely no way Hamura could know Kengo's overwhelmed and traitorously useless body has drifted his pain processing down a far more dangerous road, but because Hamura is exactly the kind of bastard who'd encourage that sort of shit deliberately, Kengo has very little warning before Hamura's now free hand slides along the dirtied silk of Kengo's shirt and pinches at the nipple closest to him.

"Ha--" Kengo can't stop the startled vocalization, but he doesn't moan, he won't moan, even though his hands -- still shaking -- claw at the seat instead, his nails forcing dull _thrrrrrp_ sounds over the aged and overtaxed seat cushions.

He's caught in a predicament -- the angle he's leaning in towards Hamura on easing the captain's grip on his neck slightly but offering him his chest in trade as an equally vulnerable tableau. Kengo could sit up again and make it harder for Hamura to pluck and scratch at the pebbled flesh of his nipples, but -- god, he's not sure he wants that either, no amount of shame at being handled this way amongst his brothers, a car door from the streets packed with clueless civvies, effective at cooling his blood now.

"Getting half-sprung off the first time you held a gun with real intent is cute and all," Hamura hums against his neck, crowding up against Kengo to the point where no amount of twisting his going to get him anywhere at all. "But I need your head back in the game."

Hamura pinches his chest again in parting, grasping at Kengo's pec and squeezing slightly, reminding Kengo awfully of the way he's seen Hamura do the same to hostesses' tits and often with an almost calculating detachment. Kengo can't turn his head to see what his boss' gaze holds from him now even if he wanted to, Hamura's thumb still driving into the triangle of muscle between his collarbone and tendon. The open buttons of Kengo's shirt make it far too easy for Hamura to slide across and under to the bare skin of his unabused nipple and Kengo whines, hips lifting in useless circles even as his boxers get wet with precome as Hamura tortures the new flesh in fair measure, head dipping down for a delirious moment to suck at Kengo's sore side, the wet slide of silk against the pissed off and roughed up skin almost making Kengo choke on the spot flooding his mouth.

"So fucking ready for me, aren't you kid?" Hamura says, words out of place, affectionate as he lifts his head so he can return to his maddening press of breath and lips by the base of Kengo's neck. "Shaking with it then in the alley, and shaking for it now. Should take my pistol back and fuck you with it Kengo-chan, but I'm not sure you've earned that yet."

The grip Hamura has on Kengo's neck gets tighter and Kengo can feel his heartbeat in his neck, in his dick. When Hamura palms him roughly over the hardened outline of his obvious arousal and then squeezes in long, undulating pulses -- Kengo gets so dizzy he thinks he might black out.

"I think we'll save that for when you finally put a bullet in that asshole Yagami's chest, hmm?"

Hamura lets go of the pressure points and pushes his nails up along Kengo's scalp just as the palm of his hand rubs over the ridge of the head -- the messed silk of his boxers dragging along every inch of hypersensitive skin, and somewhere between the firecracker sensation buzzing down his spine, Hamura's words, and the perfect crush of Hamura's hand against him, Kengo comes with a moan of relief -- pulsing thickly into his pants.

He feels _great_, an almost stupid kind of drunk on the endorphins and the attention spurred on by Hamura pressing two fingers into Kengo's mouth with a genuinely pleased, "Good boy." Kengo's whole body feels heavy but soft, neck a little sore but in the way good bruises do. His hands aren't shaking anymore. It's easy to let Hamura fuck his fingers in and out, easy not to examine the desire he gives into instantly to suck and lick at Hamura's fingers, get them as slick and as sloppy as possible. Hamura smirks, a not insignificant amount of hunger there for easy reading in his winter sky eyes. Kengo doesn't fight the pleased shiver that slithers through him, keeps his eyes locked on Hamura's even as his smile grows, shows teeth, and turns the two fingers into a mock gun, pantomiming shooting into Kengo's mouth.

Kengo has seen his share of people killed for the family -- not as many as he would've imagined in the last five years, but enough. He'd be ok being killed by Hamura, he thinks. There's a moment of uncharacteristic clarity happening for Kengo in the back of the car, as Kondo turns the microvan onto the family office block. Kengo normally prides himself on as little self-reflection as possible, makes things too damn complicated; Kengo realizes he's just about willing to take whatever Hamura wants to give him -- responsibility, pain, orgasms, death, it all seems part of the same blurry aura that follows the captain around like a second shadow. It probably should worry him, especially since it doesn't suggest good things about his survivability in the tumultuous waters ahead for the Matsugane family, but the longer he spends around Hamura the less he seems like the bad bet.

Hamura pulls his fingers back out of Kengo's mouth, and wipes them unceremoniously on the front of Kengo's already-ruined shirt. "Aww jeeze, come on!" It's a shame, he's weirdly fond of this one with the little dragons.

"I'll buy you a new one," Hamura shrugs and bends at the waist to retrieve his phone.

Kengo misses his attention immediately, hates that it's gone, but it settles as anticipation instead of anxiety as he watches Hamura's still-damp fingers type out a text message. He'll have another chance, they're not done.

**Author's Note:**

> CW: dubious consent as far as mild-moderate pain play is concerned, although Kengo is fine with where it gets him physically and emotionally; mild graphic descriptions of injuries and violence that are canon-compliant; power dynamics that are consistent with how Hamura conducts himself in-game; mental spaces that might be problematic for someone who has very sensitive issues wrt self-harm and suicidal ideation. I think that's everything, feel free to ask me to tag for more.


End file.
